


Lobo

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Blood and Violence, Implied Mpreg, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, One Night Stands, Pack Dynamics, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, Vague American Southwest Setting, Werewolves, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: A lone wolf runs off into the night.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Lee Chan | Dino
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Lobo

> _Lemon balm is for forgiveness._
> 
> _Pull up from the root, steep_
> 
> _in boiling water. Add locust's wings,_
> 
> _salt, the dried bones of hummingbirds._
> 
> _Drink when you feel ready._
> 
> _Drink even if you do not._
> 
> from How to Break a Curse by Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné

The best place for a run is the desert. There’s nothing like it. Nothing in the whole wide world.

You gotta go out of town to get the best views in town. Or at least that’s what Seokmin says. And he and his boys have been out here a while so maybe he knows what the hell he’s talking about.

Perhaps at first glance, the desert’s ugly. Featureless. Barren. Home to some pesky little critters. An absolutely maddening, blood-boiling sun to stand underneath. But like with most kinds of real beauty, you have to look at it for a bit. Get comfortable with it. Wait until the view settles in your soul. One thing Wonwoo likes real good about this place is that the desert is dry, cracked earth and red sand in all directions, far as the eye can see. Like an ocean. A quiet and still ocean. Prettier than the Pacific.

At night, the desert really can feel like some kind of wasteland. Like some kind of void where the only sensation is the wind in your fur and the hot sand beneath your paws. But maybe all of that wide open space is a good thing. No buildings. No smog. No congestion. No distractions. No trees to block the light of the Moon. There’s just wilderness where the beasts can roam free. And, boy, has Wonwoo been _caged up_ lately. He's needed a run like this.

Up close, there are the silhouettes of the cacti and joshua trees. The boulders and crags. Way out east, you’ve got the violet shadows of the distant mountains reaching up to a star-dotted sky and the fat, yellow-orange moon.

Praise Her.

Wonwoo runs.

Not from a threat. Not chasing after prey.

Wonwoo just runs. Delighted. Fast. Four legs pound out a rhythm on the earth. Dark gray fur looks almost raven-black in the pitch of the night. His wolf-yellow eyes focus on the path ahead.

Out here, he’s free. And it tastes real sweet cuz it's not the kind of freedom money can buy you.

This far away from the city, this far away from that lone stretch of two-lane highway that crosses state lines, there are no people. No civilians. No hunters. No _fear_. Seokmin’s the only pack leader in this area, the only one for miles and miles, so there aren’t even other wolves he’s gotta worry about. He just has to keep his nose to the wind so he can sniff out the scent of coyotes before they sniff out the scent of him. The thuggish things love ganging up on a lone wolf. Though, in the long stretch of days Wonwoo’s been staying out here, he’s noticed that the bold little scoundrels like to hang closer to the outskirts of town in order to find themselves some meals bigger than jackrabbits. Maybe one day soon, he’ll be that brazen.

The wind changes direction. It blows in from the south now and brings with it a creeping warmth to the air that fights off the desert night-chill.

Wonwoo crests a low, flat hill and comes to a stop. A cloud of dust billows up from beneath his paws. He pants for breath. His fur clings to his heaving belly. Wonwoo faces the lights on the horizon and tenses. He’s run farther than he intends. He’s gotten closer to the edge of Seokmin’s territory than he’s comfortable with. He’s had no idea there was another little bitty town this far west. It’s not much. Just a few dozen houses, a highway sign scratched to illegibility by the sand on the wind, and a lone gas station right up next to the road. The sign out front is a yellow beacon drawing in late-night travelers because, Wonwoo notices, there’s quite a bit of traffic on the highway even at this hour.

But it’s not the proximity of a town that’s brought Wonwoo to a standstill. There’s a change in the air that takes a good long while to settle over him. An odd wetness. An acidity that Wonwoo takes shamefully long to recognize as the stench of freshly spilled blood.

Wonwoo puts his nose to the wind, breathes in deep. His wolf senses explode wisps of color in his mind as he sifts through the sensory information. As he digs deep and discards unnecessary scents until he finds the right smell and pinpoints its source. He turns his wolfish head. There. Across the highway. He spots a car. Something from the 90s, he guesses based on the boxy design. Hell, it may even be a relic from the 80s! It’s grayish-silver with rusted paint on the doors but it’s not the car itself that intrigues Wonwoo. It’s how far from the side of the road it is parked. That’s not some overheated radiator emergency pull-off parking. That’s someone deliberately taking their wheels off-road, trying to find something or run from something out in the desert.

And look. There! He spots movement between those two cacti. Slow and shaky like something wounded. And, a bit farther away, he makes out the dark lump of something sprawled out across the sand.

Something ain’t right. Something ain’t right at all.

Wonwoo glances up the highway in one direction and then in the other. He spots a break in traffic. Times it. Takes off running. The pads of his paws scratch and burn as he goes from desert sand to hot, rough asphalt but he doesn’t slow until he’s on the other side of the road. Until he’s run past the car and is coming up on that wounded, stumbling thing.

A person.

No. Another werewolf. He can tell by the heavy stench. Blood and fur and earth and moonlight. Wonwoo peers up at him. The man's in practical but tattered clothes. Covered from forehead to kneecap in wolf blood, clutching his side with both hands like he's in pain. Like he's been bit or clawed at.

The man spots Wonwoo’s movement even though the wolf keeps his approach quiet. The man whirls around to face him and the glow of the stars reveals the fright on his face as Wonwoo steps out of the dusty dark on his four paws.

“ _Another_ of you,” the wounded man screeches. He puts a hand beneath his denim jacket like he’s reaching for his weapon. 

Wonwoo shifts. He _changes_. Fur recedes. Fangs flatten. Claws retract. Instinct dulls. 

Now he’s human. Rectangular jaw, slim nose and dark, fiercely curly hair. The magic of the change puts him in the clothes he was wearing this evening before his run: a sweaty tank top, a pleather jacket, frayed denim jeans and unironic cowboy boots. 

“What pack are you with,” the stranger demands, still trying to decide if he should reveal the weapon beneath his jacket or not.

“I’m not with no pack,” Wonwoo says quickly. Moon! What has he gotten himself in the middle of? “I left my old one long ago.” He tries to step towards the man, check over his wounds, but the guy steps back so fast he almost stumbles. “It’s alright,” Wonwoo says, holding up a placating hand. “I ain’t gone bite ya.” 

The stranger doesn’t relax, though, and Wonwoo can’t blame him.

He tries to ease things along nice and slow. “My name’s Wonwoo. Can I get yours?”

The stranger’s face stiffens with suspicion but he eventually supplies, “Name’s Chan.”

The tangy, metallic stench of werewolf blood is strong enough that even Wonwoo’s dulled human senses pick up on it. Fills his head with those first little flutters of fight-or-flight. He turns his head. Towards that old car. It’s not so much parked as _crashed_ , he sees. Front end bent to all hell after running into the unfriendly side of a fucking boulder. Smoke still spills out from beneath the bent hood. Wonwoo turns around the other way and eyes the lump on the ground a short distance from where the two of them stand and recognizes the shape as a slain wolf. Angry, jagged gashes line the animal’s flank, the dark crimson of the blood in stark contrast to the wolf's light gray, almost ash-colored fur. Wonwoo briefly closes his eyes, flicks his fingers from his chest to his chin in the respectful sign of the Moon. A quick prayer to guide the beast back up to the stars. He opens his eyes. “What beneath the Moon happened out here?”

“Just a little scrap,” Chan says. "Something that's got jack shit to do with you." His posture is as rigid and stiff as a statue. Guarded. A sword a breath away from being drawn. Wonwoo recognizes another predator when he sees one and he makes the conscious decision not to turn his back on the man. 

“What pack are you with,” Wonwoo returns the question. But that’s silly to ask. The only pack out here for miles is Seokmin’s and—

“I ain’t with no pack,” the guy grunts out. He grits his teeth as a wave of pain shoots through him but when Wonwoo steps forward to offer a helping hand, Chan steps back. Away.

Wonwoo respects the guy’s need for some space. That post-fight rush can be a menace. He knows from experience. Sometimes the wolf don't want to lie down and roll over even when the brawl is won. But still… “It’s rare,” Wonwoo comments, “for two rogues to be allowed on a pack’s territory at the same time.”

Chan leers at him. “Call it fate, then.” He’s small with a round and almost delicate face but it’s ruined by his choppy haircut he definitely gave himself in a rest stop bathroom mirror with a pair of left-handed scissors. Or something real close. Maybe it’ll take a bit more staring for the true beauty of it to sink in.

The silence stretches tense and awkward. Just a few ticks shy of a proper standoff. Wonwoo attempts to further defuse. “You alright?” He motions to the shorter man’s blood-splattered clothes.

“Most of it ain’t mine,” Chan responds with a wheeze. He doesn’t completely relax and let his guard down but he _does_ lower his hand from whatever weapon he’s got stashed away beneath his jacket and that’s a step in the right direction if Wonwoo’s ever seen one.

“You gonna tell me why you two fought to the death?” Wonwoo waves a hand towards the wolf corpse. It's rare for shit to go so far. The humiliation of a loss is usually a more effective weapon than death.

“Turf war,” Chan blurts out.

And that’s another little thing that strikes Wonwoo as odd and out of place here. Seokmin’s got the only pack out here between the basin and the ridge. So he says. The only way another pack’s gotten involved is if they’ve been lured across state lines, but the border is—

“Don’t come near me,” Chan seethes.

Wonwoo stops in his tracks. What he _should_ do is mind his own business. Leave this guy the hell alone. There’s no way for him to know what kind of deal Chan struck up with Seokmin, how much money in dues he had to fork over, how many rules he had to slit his fingertips and agree to, but in Wonwoo’s own negotiations a few weeks back, Seokmin had specifically told Wonwoo _not_ to fight other wolves. His own or any others that wandered through the city limits.

Chan attempts to walk away but it’s apparent that the wolf he battled got him good. That bad limp says so loud and clear. He realizes Wonwoo stares at him, follows him with his eyes, watches his every move, and he snaps, “You gone leave me the hell alone or what?”

“You’re injured. I can’t just leave you out here in the middle of nowhere like this.” With that car smashed to bits, it’s a half hour walk across the sand to that tiny little town on the horizon. Even longer than that if you’re injured. Even longer than _that_ if you go east in the direction of Seokmin’s claimed city where there’s at least a few other wolves around to tend to those injuries. It’s a dumb question considering the guy’s condition but Wonwoo still asks, “Can you shift? Can you run?”

Chan goes statue-still. Like someone’s just pointed a gun at him. His eyes go wide with an emotion a few steps left of surprise as he lifts his head to meet Wonwoo’s gaze. Half a syllable falls out of his mouth but he clamps his mouth shut tight on whatever else he was about to say.

“I take it you can’t,” Wonwoo speaks up when the silence goes a little long. “I’ll shift. Ride on my back, Chan. I’ll carry you to my place and fix you up real quick.”

“I don’t want your goddamn help,” Chan yells at him. His voice gets swallowed up by the fathomless emptiness of the desert air. But as prideful as he tries to be, he can’t take but four more steps before his ankle gives out beneath him and he topples over into the sand. “Goddammit,” he yells at himself with a punch to the hard, packed earth.

Wonwoo shifts.

The magic is a little slower going from man to beast than the other way around. The Moon likes to take Her time setting up what’s right. You could say it’s artwork the way She drags out the snout and sharpens the teeth and pulls free the ears and stretches out the tail. Wonwoo’s dark gray fur surges out of his skin like a storm. Wraps snug around him like a shield.

On all fours, Wonwoo approaches Chan. Ducks back just in time to avoid a wild, wide swing at his snout. He presses his nose to Chan’s chest. Gets a nose full of the blood Chan’s soaked in. He puts his snout to Chan’s arm instead. He nudges and nudges until Chan finally relents and slings his arm over Wonwoo’s stocky neck and pulls himself up onto the wolf’s broad back.

Wonwoo walks.

He can’t pick up much speed with this much extra weight on him—with Chan’s dangling, dragging limbs getting in the way of his own—but moving on four legs is always faster than moving on two. 

At least the sky above is cloudless and the Moon is bright. Her glow easily lights the way across the sand and stone and through the summer-dry shrubs. Wonwoo follows the bright twinkling stars east. The walk is long and the quiet is agony, an awful reminder of how lonely the wolf has been. Wonwoo attempts to reach through the magic and speak to Chan, send him encouragement, tell him to hold on, ask if it’s alright to go faster, but it’s like stepping on asphalt so hot the sole of your shoe melts and sticks. Chan’s end of the connection remains gummed up and unresponsive. Either he’s so injured and frazzled that he can’t focus or he’s actively keeping Wonwoo out.

Or maybe it’s been just that long since Wonwoo’s ran with a pack. Maybe the months have stacked up faster than he’s kept track of and he’s simply forgotten the nuances of _reaching out_.

Nearly an hour passes and Wonwoo’s at the absolute limit of his stamina when the monotony of the desert shatters to pieces as Seokmin’s city shows up on the horizon. Old shut-down factories and the towering steel of industrial parks. Poor apartment blocks and strip malls and a rickety old train station. Well, it’s not Seokmin’s city by any stretch of human law or ordinance, but a Moon-praising wolf will recognize Seokmin as this city’s king and any wolf just passing through will find him and pay their respects. And maybe, at first, the city’s a little rough around the edges. It’s old and neglected. A little worn down and ugly. Population can't be but a couple thousand. But Wonwoo’s been here a few weeks so he can see the beauty in its blinding bright lights and billboards and rodeos and noise and authentic Mexican food. Wonwoo waits until he’s got no other choice, until there’s suburbs on all sides of them and there are a few too many people out, before he shifts again. Beast to man. Straightening and twisting and stretching and popping his joints as he stands on two feet. Chan’s arm is thrown across his shoulders to support the man as he limps along.

“Where did Seokmin set you up,” Wonwoo asks. His voice is a little scratchy from the shift. “Tell me the address. I’ll take you home, Chan.”

But Chan don’t answer him. The shorter man keeps his eyes on the sidewalk. Keeps his mouth flattened in an expressionless line. Keeps his eyebrows furrowed in barely-concealed irritation. Keeps his fingernails dug in to Wonwoo's shoulder nice and tight, like it hurts him to hold on but like it'll hurt him to let go. It seems like he’ll keep being hostile right on up until they part ways.

Whatever.

Wonwoo’s been young. He’s acted like that before. Pushed everyone away. Started fights with anyone who looked at him wrong. Pissed off people just to piss em off. Then he learned how rare and important a helping hand can be. Then he learned just how badly a wolf needs a pack. It's why rogues don't make it long.

They keep to the sidewalks since Chan’s too weak to go running off the beaten path. Wonwoo steers them south through two neighborhoods before helping Chan up the brick steps to his own temporary dwellings.

Rogues have it tough. Life for a wolf in and of itself is dangerous and unpredictable already. Multiply that times ten without the safety net of a pack. Lone wolves are often romanticized but they are also found dead in the wilderness. Starved to death. Sick. Injured. Not to mention the lurking threat of territorial wolf packs and other predators. Staying on the move is the safest bet but even tasks as simple as finding a place to stay can become complicated if you don’t abide by a pack alpha’s rules. There are dues to be paid. Respect to be earned. Trust to be bought.

Wonwoo’s lucky as hell to have been this far south when crossing the state. To have been in Seokmin’s territory instead of on any other alpha’s grounds when the bottom of his old Honda fell out from underneath him. It's all too easy to remember the last few pack alphas he's suffered under. Like those rowdy rich kids in Northern California who spent their days smoking weed, drinking white liquor, and shifting in the middle of the day. Their pack alpha was a middle-aged man with a coke addiction. He didn't ask for much money when Wonwoo asked for shelter—as he clearly didn't need more—and the alpha even offered Wonwoo one of the rooms in his large, fancy almost-mansion, but there were wild, noisy parties nearly every night of the week and there was a constant parade of humans in and out of the house at all hours of the day and their stench cloyed at Wonwoo's nerves and made him afraid to shift. Then there was that alpha in Las Vegas. Some Russian brute of a man with his claws sunk deep in the lucrative business of several casinos. He was brutal and mean and violent, clawing at his subordinates for the tiniest of infractions. The alpha had a laundry list of tight rules and a harem of omegas at his beck and call, many who were pregnant. The alpha draped himself in luxury yet cared very little about the members of his pack struggling to make ends meet on the fringes of the city. Hell, he'd demanded nearly all of Wonwoo's remaining cash in dues and fees only to allow him to live in a crumbling house literally set for demolition. Let's just say Wonwoo didn't stay in Vegas but for one week and he wasn't all too sure he told the Russian he was leaving.

Of course, there were other pack alphas. The hippies in Seattle. The celeb-wannabes in LA. The Natives in Wyoming. The brujas in Arizona.

Seokmin's probably not the bravest or the most charismatic but—and it pains Wonwoo a little to have to put a thought to it like this—but Seokmin's probably been the most kind pack alpha he's ever asked for help from over the years. He looks so unassuming in person, even with his height. His button-down shirts and thick-rimmed glasses don't give off much of an imposing vibe but appearances mean little in pack heirarchy and perhaps the man earned his role through leadership skills outside of physical strength. Perhaps his generosity is one such trait. Seokmin sold Wonwoo an old but decent-running pickup truck for dirt cheap. Handed him a duffel bag of used but clean clothes. Let him stay for significantly reduced rent in one of his smaller, shittier properties. Hooked him up with a part-time job hauling potting soil and horse feed. Gave Wonwoo permission to hunt (for food and for food only!) on his pack’s territory. But even in the show of all that kindness, wolf law gets real ambiguous about exactly how long a rogue can stay on a pack’s grounds without _needing_ to be ceremoniously inducted into that pack. And Wonwoo’s real sure he’s a pinch away from overstaying his welcome.

He doesn't want to be in another pack. It's been years but he's still running from that awful, bloody past.

But that's why it's in the past. Now, in the present, he's got a wounded wolf to look after.

“Home sweet home,” Wonwoo calls out as he turns his key in the lock and pushes open the front door.

Chan says the first words he’s spoken since they stood out in the desert: “Nice place.”

But it’s sarcasm.

The tiny little one-bedroom at the end of a dead-end street looks abandoned. Or like it’s for sale and someone forgot to stick the sign out front. Every room is empty and dark. Devoid of furniture. Missing signs of life. Coated in a thin film of dust. There's no AC and, even hours after sunset, the house is warm with lingering heat. It's a problem Wonwoo can get Seokmin to look into but he prefers the mild, constant discomfort. Wonwoo likes to remind himself every day that he shouldn't stay here long. That this place is transitory. That he’s gotta keep moving whether he leaves this week or the next. The kitchen, at least, has the bare minimum of snacks and coffee and beer and microwave meals that any good wolf needs on the fly and the bedroom’s got a mattress on the floor, a floor lamp and a stack of suitcases in the corner.

He doesn't own much else.

“Sit,” Wonwoo commands, steering Chan towards the mattress. “Take that jacket off. And your shoes. I’ll patch your wounds.”

Chan says nothing. And that’s better than a complaint so Wonwoo takes it.

In the kitchen, he goes under the sink to find his first aid kit. A big tin box that’s probably older than he is. In it is a hodgepodge of products. Stuff he’s stolen. Stuff he’s bought. Stuff he’s carried with him from state to state. Stuff Seokmin let him have during their negotiations. 

Wonwoo brings everything back to the bedroom. “Chan, did you want something to eat?” Because now that his heart rate’s settled after such a hard trip, he realizes he’s hungry. That he hasn't had food since that morning. “I can heat up some fish sticks.”

“I’ll take whatever.”

Wonwoo eases down onto the mattress next to him and looks the little guy over. Chan looks battered. But, in the dim lamplight, he also looks ethereal. His eyes are so intense but his face is so open and soft. Like there used to be a time where he didn’t have to live this way. And maybe that time wasn't even all that long ago. Wonwoo can’t wrap his head around the details but he _can_ wrap some gauze around Chan’s right ankle after he peels off the guy's socks and cleans up and sterilizes the man’s wounds. Wonwoo says, “You’re right. Most of this blood ain’t yours.”

“You should see the other guy.” 

And maybe it’s a joke because ‘the other guy’ is dead in the desert but Wonwoo don’t quite feel like laughing. “Why’d you kill him?” Because killing ain't usually what a wolf does.

“I had to,” Chan says quickly, like he’s been waiting all this time for Wonwoo to ask. “Just like I’ll kill you if I have to.”

Wonwoo’s hand stills where he’s dabbing cotton swabs across Chan’s side to get up the blood. The threat of violence hangs in the air. The beast inside him raises its hackles. Cautious. Suspicious. Wonwoo looks up and Chan’s staring straight at him. Even after all this time, the guy looks at Wonwoo like he’s a threat. Like he’s some stray, feral, diseased dog that needs to be put down. He hasn't looked at himself in a mirror in a couple of days but does he really look _that_ frightening? Maybe Wonwoo’s stayed out in the desert too long. Gone too soft. Been alone too long. Maybe Wonwoo's forgotten how to doubt. “You won’t have to kill me,” he states. “I’m not out to get you.” Then he goes back to treating Chan’s wounds. His arm. His knee. Wonwoo wipes up blood. Swabs alcohol around the cuts. Bandages up everything a bit too loosely. He’s no doctor so he’s positive his patchy arts and crafts job won’t hold up longer than a day. But, really, they just gotta make it through the night. He promises himself he’ll take Chan to see Seokmin first thing in the morning. Get him looked after proper.

Chan downs two and a half tall glasses of water and then needs Wonwoo’s help getting down the hall to the bathroom. 

Wonwoo microwaves the fish sticks, mashes up fresh guac and pours them both glasses of tea. Since he’s got no kitchen table or dining chairs, the two of them eat off the plastic tray while they sit on the mattress. They face each other, the tray between them. And whether it’s instinctive or not, neither of them put their back to a wall. Neither of them relax fully.

“Where are you from,” Wonwoo attempts when the silence makes him anxious.

“West,” Chan says vaguely. West can mean at least three different states. West can mean _anything_. Then he asks, “Where are you from?”

Wonwoo's eager to chat and share. “Where was I before this? Northwest. Beyond the canyon. The forest fires brought me south. But… before that… Well, I was born way up north. Where it snows.” Wonwoo shakes his head as he thinks about it, half in amazement and half in disbelief. “I’m a long, long way from home.”

“Anybody looking for you out here?”

“Probably not. I haven’t run with a pack since I was nineteen.” 

An oddly-shaped smile crosses Chan’s face. Oddly close to relief.

Wonwoo asks him, “What about you?”

“I have people,” Chan answers cryptically. Another wide answer that can mean anything. A pack? So does that mean that he's no rogue?

“Does Seokmin know you killed that wolf?” A bold, dangerous subject change.

Chan, who was so close to relaxing, stiffens right back up. The confusion and shock and fear on his face makes his guilt apparent.

Seokmin’s not gonna like this. He ain’t gone like it at all.

Wonwoo wipes his hands off on his denim-clad thighs, leans forward to grab the empty plastic tray but he must do it too fast because Chan jolts into action, presses a hand to his waist like he’s reaching for a familiar weapon, but his fingers wrap around thin air because his jacket and rucksack sit on the floor beside the mattress, dangerously out of reach.

They stare at each other and silently acknowledge the misunderstanding. Silently acknowledge each other’s mistakes.

Wonwoo picks up the tray, stands up and carries it out of the room. This ain’t going well, he thinks as he chucks out the garbage. Wonwoo can’t keep something as big as this from Seokmin unless he wants to risk the tiny slice of peace he’s got here. Not unless he wants to betray the peace he's bought. Not unless he wants to gather up all his shit and leave town tonight before he's got a pack alpha coming for his ass. Chan’s gonna have to own up to this deadly breach of trust.

When Wonwoo comes back into the bedroom, Chan springs away from one of Wonwoo’s bags, clearly caught snooping.

Wonwoo lets it slide. He ain’t got shit worth stealing. And ain’t got the money to worry about replacing what got stolen. He does have a cell phone, though, and he pulls it out of his pocket to find Seokmin’s number in his jumble of contacts.

Chan fails to hide his panic. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Seokmin,” Wonwoo says. He finally finds the pack alpha’s number. Taps the screen to dial.

“Why?”

Wonwoo can hear the trill of the ringer through the phone speaker. “To tell him you broke his law. To tell him you killed a—”

Chan crosses the tiny room in half a dozen steps. “Let’s not get hasty,” he says.

“I have to. Because if he finds out I knew something this big and ain’t tell him, he’ll claw my throat out when he's done clawing yours.” Wonwoo raises the phone to his ear and quietly begs for Seokmin to pick up even though it’s gotta be two in the morning.

Chan pries the phone out of Wonwoo’s hands, disconnects the call. “You don’t gotta get that guy involved.”

Wonwoo bristles. Shit keeps getting worse and worse. It dawns on him that this might be a wolf Seokmin don't even _know_ about. That this might be a wolf ignoring established laws and lingering in a city without its king's permission. It dawns on him that Chan might be—

“Let’s just have a quiet night,” Chan says. “You and me. Let’s not worry about nothing.” And he tilts forward on his tiptoes and snatches a kiss right off Wonwoo’s lips.

His mouth is so so so soft and cool like a gulp of water from an oasis. Wonwoo knows this is wrong but he shuts his eyes, even as Chan draws away. O Moon! How long has it been?

“See,” Chan murmurs as he watches Wonwoo blink open his eyes like he’s waking from a dream. His voice is as smooth as velvet when he says, "Don't ya wanna stop worrying?" He takes Wonwoo’s hand in his own and gently pulls him across the room, back towards the mattress. “Nobody has to know about nothing, Wonwoo.”

And it’s the first time all night that Chan has said his name and the effect is instantaneous. Wonwoo pushes forward, closes the gap, kisses Chan’s mouth. It’s just as soft as the first time and it thrills him how swiftly Chan parts his lips and lets Wonwoo’s tongue sweep inside. Yet as eager as he is, as desperate and touch-starved as he is, there's no aggression in the kiss. It's deep and full of longing, but it's also honey smooth and marshmallow soft.

Chan breaks away to gulp down air. His cheeks are flushed red already. “There you go,” he encourages, sweet as moonshine. “Only think about me. Only me.” 

And perhaps all of this is not ideal because Chan’s still half-covered in dried blood but Wonwoo stops thinking with his head. Primal instinct tugs him along like a puppet on strings and he gladly follows those echoing, Moon-given commands. He snakes an arm around Chan’s small waist and kisses the man’s neck, his collarbones. Inhales his heady, bloody scent. Feels his gut heat and his erection swell in reaction.

Chan remains full of surprises.

He grips Wonwoo by the back of the neck almost harshly to tilt Wonwoo's head back, pulls in close and kisses him. Hard. Fast. Fiery. Like he’s trying to kiss the breath out of Wonwoo’s lungs. The control between them reverses in less than a blink. It’s Chan who sits them down on the mattress. It’s Chan who lowers Wonwoo onto his back. It’s Chan who kisses at his neck. It’s Chan who undresses him, layer by layer, and then chucks his clothes across the room before he undresses himself.

Maybe it's because Wonwoo's been looking for a while but he can see a bit more of Chan's beauty now. Warmly tanned skin wrapped tight around a lithe, sculpted body. A faint dusting of hair across his chest and in a heavy stripe down his belly. Even beneath the dried blood and the fresh bandages and the old scars and the faded tattoos, Chan is beautiful and Wonwoo melts a little at the sight.

Wonwoo’s phone rings from somewhere on the floor. Loud. Shrill. Just out of reach. When Wonwoo attempts to sit up and get it, Chan presses a finger across Wonwoo’s pink lips and nudges him back onto the mattress. “Remember," he coos, but it's almost like an order, "You’re only thinking about me.”

So Wonwoo lets all of his other thoughts dissolve.

The beast in his heart fills with frustration and anger and confusion. Irritated by this uncharacteristic display of submission. Chan is no pack alpha—hell, he doesn’t smell like another alpha at all!—but as Chan decorates Wonwoo’s bare chest in gentle kisses, as his hand moves south to skillfully explore, Wonwoo finds it easier and easier to quiet that beast. To make it sit and heel and watch and wait. Wonwoo lets Chan take control even though he's used to being in control. He lets the little omega spread his legs, work him open with his slender fingers and then push inside. Wonwoo usually likes his sex rougher than this. Claw marks and snapping hips and biting and bestial howls. But he hasn’t had it like this in a while. Hasn’t had it slow slow slow and methodical like the current of an eastern river. He slides his hands up and down Chan’s arms, careful of his bandages. He feels his fingertips brush over Chan's scars and scabs and bruises. He presses his hands to Chan’s sweaty chest to feel the man’s racing heartbeat beneath his palms. He wraps his legs around Chan's hips to hold him close as they rock together.

Chan kisses him throughout. Soft and sensual between whispered praises and throaty moans. 

It’s good.

It’s so good that it makes Wonwoo repeatedly whisper something foolish like “I love you.”

It’s so good that it has him dreaming of claiming Chan as his mate and moving somewhere south to settle. Somewhere he can start and raise and lead a pack of his own. And he's never fucking dreamed of that.

It’s so good that he finishes too soon. But Chan grabs hold of him, even as Wonwoo whimpers from the sensitivity, and works him until he's hard again in his fist with almost tender strokes before Wonwoo finishes a second time and Chan kisses the moans out of his mouth and rocks into him until it’s his turn.

Afterwards, sated, they lay across the mattress, sweaty and exhausted and all of their problems forgotten. Chan snores gently, wrapped in Wonwoo’s arms, back pressed tight to Wonwoo’s chest. The lamp is off and the Moon’s light is bright and yellow through the glass windows. She covers the two of them in a hazy, brilliant glow. Makes the blood and sweat on Chan’s skin shimmer like tiny little diamonds.

It may be because Wonwoo’s vulnerable and so close to sleep but his beast stirs in him. Kicks up a disobedient fuss. He ignores it for many minutes as he tries to doze off but his instinct becomes more prominent, more incessant until, _finally_ , he pushes away his drowsiness and listens to his senses.

Chan is no werewolf. Never has been.

Wonwoo can smell that now. When they'd met out in the desert, both of them beneath that starry sky and one of them soaked in blood, Chan smelled like any ole wolf. But Wonwoo was smelling someone else. Wonwoo was smelling who Chan had killed. Here in Wonwoo’s bedroom, though, with most of that blood wiped off of him, sweated off of him, smeared on the mattress beneath them, Wonwoo can more clearly breathe him in. He can more clearly smell Chan.

Chan is _human_. Oh so very human.

And that is dangerous.

Especially so because Wonwoo shifted right in front of him so openly, so confidently. That goes against all wolf laws. That goes against the whispers of the Moon Herself! And if Seokmin finds out… Shit! If Seokmin discovers that Wonwoo gave himself away and put his pack’s survival into jeopardy, then—

Chan snores again. A little loudly. He tilts his head back until his choppy hair tickles Wonwoo's nose.

Wonwoo squeezes his eyes shut but that doesn’t shield him from the truth. It doesn't make the fact that he's endangered all wolves any easier to deal with. Seokmin will make Wonwoo kill Chan. It’s the only way to keep him quiet! The only way to protect their secrets. Protect their peace. 

Maybe it’s naive but Wonwoo doesn’t want to do that. He hasn't had blood on his hands in years—not since he left his old pack—and he doesn't want that kind of shit on his conscious again. He and Chan can just act like this whole night never happened. They can go their separate ways in the morning. Never speak of this. Never cross paths again. 

Seokmin doesn’t have to know about any of this.

Wonwoo blames himself. His loneliness is what brought him here. His silly little dream of having a family again—a pack—is what’s breaking his heart like this. Silly little wolf. He never should have been so optimistic.

He tries to roll away. Tries to put some distance between himself and Chan. But their naked bodies are too tightly wound up together. Chan’s fingers are clamped like a vice around Wonwoo’s wrist as if to keep him close, even in his sleep.

But maybe he's not even asleep, the wolf realizes. Wonwoo can feel Chan's pulse. Hear his breathing. And neither is slow enough for sleep.

Chan's just as awake and alert as he is. 

And that's probably more dangerous than anything.

Wonwoo does not mean to sleep. He doesn’t even think he’s capable of doing so with his frazzled nerves and pacing, anxious beast. But he shuts his eyes one too many times and then the Moonlight guides him to slumber.

🌖

Wonwoo wakes with a knife at his throat.

Chan’s knife.

But not just any kitchen knife.

It's a Damascus steel blade threaded through with pure silver filigree, the handle engraved with runes of protection and courage and strength.

An Inquisitor’s knife.

O Moon above! Chan’s not any ordinary human. He’s a _werewolf hunter_. Wonwoo growls low in his throat as the realization sinks in. Now Chan going toe to toe with a wolf and coming out on top makes a lot more goddamn sense!

The beast in Wonwoo seethes, enraged that it was so easily mollified earlier in the night. That it was so easily tricked. Wonwoo’s angry too. Pissed that he trusted someone else this easily even after all the shit he's been through. So mad at himself for ignoring what should have been obvious just because of a pretty face. But he gets a grip on his rage. Keeps the beast from making him rake his claws across Chan’s face. Because even now, with the silver of Chan’s knife burning and burning and _burning_ the meat of his throat so badly that he can't half-breathe, Wonwoo still thinks the man is beautiful. Still foolishly thinks he’s precious and worth saving.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” Chan hisses above him. He grips the decorated hilt of his knife in both hands, prepped and ready to plunge the blade through Wonwoo’s neck.

“What’s wrong,” Wonwoo wheezes, ignoring the searing pain. “Can’t complete the job when you can look me in the eye?”

Chan’s eyes go wide. The light of the Moon coming in from outside catches on moisture hanging in the corner of Chan’s eyes—tears!—and Wonwoo wonders, however briefly, however idiotically, how long Chan’s been straddling him, hovering over him, hesitating with that knife.

Just like he’s hesitating now.

Wonwoo swings. 

His heavy hand disarms Chan. Sends the knife sailing into one of the far corners of the room with a loud, noisy clatter. Wonwoo ignores the acute burning feeling across his palm as he tightens his hand around Chan’s throat. Squeezes. Until Chan chokes and gasps. Then Wonwoo flings him aside. Literally tosses him away like trash. Wonwoo sits up. He's angry but now isn't the time for anger. “Get dressed, Chan,” he commands brusquely, voice full of bass, full of the magic of an alpha. His voice echoes around the room in an unnatural, swirling way and the sound rings sharply even in Wonwoo's own ears.

If Chan were a wolf, if he were actually an omega, he’d obey without question. But… “What are you going to do to me,” he asks defiantly. “You gonna kill me, wolfboy? Gonna rip me to shreds?” He’s trying to sound tough and brave but the scent of his fear paints the walls. 

Wonwoo looks over at him. Sprawled out naked on the floor, Chan looks more vulnerable than Wonwoo’s seen him all night, making it all the more obvious just how much of tonight has been an act. A masquerade. Even the tenderness of their sex. And maybe, just maybe, the terrified young man he's looking at now is something _real_. 

But Wonwoo’s done being hopeful. He’s done believing. The burn mark in a jagged line across his neck is proof of that. “Put your clothes on,” he says. Not much louder than a whisper in the quiet. “You can’t be in this city come sunrise. You won't stand a chance so I’m getting you out of here.”

Chan stands. Slowly. Still mindful of his injuries. His gaze lands on his knife on the floor and, for a harrowing moment, Wonwoo fears the hunter may actually go for it and come after him again, but Chan sighs and drops his gaze to the floor around the mattress to search for his clothes.

Wonwoo’s phone rings. He gets up. Grabs it off the floor and is not shocked to see Seokmin’s name across the screen. Dammit. He still needs some time to come up with a plan and cover his tracks but if there's one thing he's learned in the past six or seven years on his own as a rogue, and even before then in his old pack, it's that you do not ignore the call of a pack alpha. He slides his thumb across the screen to answer the call right before it goes to voicemail and answers, “Yes, alpha?”

Seokmin’s voice is usually melodic and cheerful, like he’s always a breath away from bursting into song, but now he’s cold. All edge. “Hate to wake you up at ass o’ clock in the morning but some shit’s gone down.”

Wonwoo cradles his phone between his ear and shoulder so he can free up his hands and pull on his socks. “What’s the matter?”

“This shit ain’t supposed to happen to me,” Seokmin yells. “I brought my boys all the way out here so that there’d be no shit like this. Yet there’s _shit like this_!”

Wonwoo finds his underwear and slides it on up his legs. He’s got a feeling he knows exactly what happened but he asks anyway, “Alpha, what went down?”

“A hunter, hermano.” Seokmin goes quiet for so long that Wonwoo has to check his phone to make sure the alpha hasn’t hung up on him. “An Inquisidor made it onto my territory, slipped past all of our defenses and murdered one of my boys in cold blood. Maldito sea! We found him out in the desert not even an hour ago. Sliced up good. Silver powder shoved down his throat.”

“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.” Now Wonwoo can't think about that dead wolf out in the desert without his stomach churning. A wolf going after another wolf is a hundred times more forgivable than a human killing a wolf. Moon rest his soul. Wonwoo wrestles to put his jeans on. His hands shake so much he almost can’t zip and button them. He checks the floor for his tank top only to notice that the silver knife is missing from the corner of the room. He whirls about, terrified, but when his eyes land on Chan, the man is stashing the knife away in his bag, already fully dressed. 

In his ear, Seokmin goes, “I let you stay on my grounds for—”

Defensively, Wonwoo shouts into the phone, “You think I had something to do with this?”

And maybe it’s risky to scream at a pack alpha but Seokmin just snaps, “Let me finish, hermano!” Then he takes a deep, audible breath. “I let you stay on my grounds but I don’t restrict you like I restrict my boys. You can come and go as you please. Leave town when you feel like it. Have you heard anything? Been to any bars? Heard news on one of the ranches?” Then, after another little pause, he goes, "Maybe you heard something before you came here?"

And the question Seokmin means to ask is _Were you followed? Were you tracked?_

"No." Wonwoo can’t fully relax. He’s staring at the source of this problem square in the face and he’s absolutely terrified that Seokmin will hear his lie. “No. No, I haven’t heard anything about hunters. I don't know of any Inquisitor warbands coming through.” That was the problem with small towns, small packs. There is such a thing called being _too_ isolated. Like goldfish trapped in a fishbowl. In bigger cities, with more packs, more wolves, the peace isn’t always easy and truces don’t always hold up, but everyone turns rivalries and all of that other shit aside when it comes to finding ways to escape silver. Wonwoo holds his phone in one hand and then the other as he pulls on his tank top and the irony is not lost on him when Chan helps him into his jacket, slowly and calmly and deliberately, as if he hadn’t had a knife to Wonwoo’s throat five minutes ago. Wonwoo looks into Chan’s eyes when he says into the phone, “I didn’t think hunters would need to come this far south.”

Chan opens his mouth, probably to shout in protest, but Wonwoo silences him by holding a finger up to his lips. 

On the other end of the line, Seokmin says, “This is why I left Houston. Ay dios mio. This is why I left El Paso! Hunters rarely work alone. There's only two dozen of us. We don’t have the numbers to defend ourselves from Inquisidors!”

And Wonwoo can sympathize. The constant threat of hunters, the never-ending wars between selfish wolves and rival packs, all of that messy and bloody conflict is why he got the hell out of Chicago all those years ago. Seokmin’s not Wonwoo’s pack alpha but that might be why he’s got the iron balls to shout, “Get a hold of yourself!”

“Y-You’re right,” Seokmin says. He sounds oddly quiet. And Wonwoo can't decide what fits Seokmin less: him screaming or him sounding like he might cry. Seokmin continues, “I’ve got my pride as an alpha to maintain.” They fall into another silence and Wonwoo uses the break in conversation to slip on his cowboy boots and run his hands through the messy bird's nest of his hair. When Seokmin speaks again, his high-pitched emotion has left his voice, replaced by something razor-edged. Something cold and liquid and dangerous and dark. A set of white fangs gleaming in the dark. “I’ll get my best boys on this. My fastest. My smartest. They’ll sniff out where that hunter got to. And they will bring him to me.”

Wonwoo leaves the bedroom, moves down the hall, fishes his keys out of his pocket. He glances over his shoulder once and only once to make sure Chan follows him. “I can help you,” he offers the pack alpha. He pulls open the front door and steps outside into the chilly desert night. Peers up and down the street to make sure none of Seokmin's boys linger near his house. The sidewalk is empty and he smells no wolves on the wind. Wonwoo signals to Chan as he says into his phone, "I've learned a thing or two about tracking. Can't say I've gone after a hunter before but I can still be an asset."

Seokmin says, “No. No. You’re a guest, hermano. I won’t involve you in my pack matters. As distressful as they are.”

Chan steps down the front stairs of the tiny stucco house. Gone is his defiant backbone from earlier in the night. Now he looks like he’s given up a little. Like he's acknowledged his fatal error. Like he’s fully prepared to let Wonwoo drive him right towards Seokmin’s toothy maw. But Wonwoo ain’t gonna do that. Yes. He is a backstabber. He’s doing that right now as he lies through his teeth to one of the few pack alphas who has shown him true kindness over all these years. But Wonwoo does it with a heavy, broken heart. He says, “No, Alpha. I want to help you. You've done so much for me. It's only right I repay the favor.” He has to really sell it. Really make Seokmin believe him so that maybe he will believe all this bullshit himself. “I’ll keep my nose to the wind. If I catch news of anything about a fucking warband, I’ll tell you right away. I’ll help you fight them off!”

Seokmin growls in irritation. Almost a threatening bark. He says, “I’ve been nice to you these past few weeks, hermano, but don't mistake my compassion for weakness." His voice gets lower and louder as he goes. "You are _not_ gonna cross me on purpose. You hear me? If I tell you to stay out of pack business, you stay out of pack business.”

And there’s absolutely no way that the alpha magic in his voice can transfer through the phone speaker but Wonwoo still feels thoroughly scolded. “Yes, alpha. I apologize.” He locks up his front door, hops down the steps and leads Chan across the dead grass in the front lawn to the old, yellow Ford pickup sitting in the driveway. Paranoid, Wonwoo looks up the sidewalk in both directions but he's still not convinced they are safe. Then again, he doubts Seokmin has genuine reason to be suspicious of him and, even if he was, would he have the numbers to spare to keep Wonwoo under observation? "You and your boys have been so inviting," Wonwoo says, feeling guilty. "Perhaps I forgot that I'm not actually family."

“I shouldn’t have even told you as much as I have,” Seokmin breathes out. Regretful. “I shouldn't have even got you this involved."

Wonwoo and Chan climb inside the vehicle. Get settled in their seats. Wonwoo twists the ignition and the decade-old engine stalls and stalls and stalls before it finally turns over and starts up. Into his phone, he says, “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“It ain’t your fault. I shouldn’t have expected you to know these lands like we do.” Seokmin pauses. Lengthy. Like he’s thinking things over. “These Inquisidoras have grown some serious cajones. Now they slice open any ole wolf.”

“Maybe that hunter doesn’t know what they’ve got themselves into,” Wonwoo suggests, looking over into the passenger seat at the hunter in question. "Because they don't know shit about what's coming for them."

It’s the boost in confidence Seokmin needs. His earlier doubt leaves his tone and he raises his voice. “If I sniff out that hunter—” Wonwoo holds his phone away from his head, partially to get Seokmin’s screaming out of his ear, but mainly so that Chan can hear the pack alpha’s words for himself. “—and when I get my hands on him, I’ll tear his throat out. I’ll slice off his balls! Send them through the mail to his family. Do you hear me, hermano? He’ll pay for breaking the peace I’ve worked so goddamn hard for. He’ll pay for making my boys cower in fear like this.”

Wonwoo puts the phone back to his ear. He adjusts the AC coming through the vents. “May he carry the weight of that guilt to the Moon and back.”

Seokmin sighs. “Look. It’s… It’s late. You probably have your own issues to deal with. I’ll let you go for now.”

“Alpha," Wonwoo exhales before the call can disconnect. Then, "Seokmin,” because this is a bit more personal. “I think we should talk. Later, but... sometime soon. I know you're busy but maybe you can make time this week?”

“About what, hermano?”

Wonwoo puts the truck in reverse and eases it out of the driveway. Then he changes gears, twists the wheel hard and gets them rolling up the poorly-lit, pothole-filled street. “I’m thinking of moving on.” 

“Oh? Where you headed?”

Wonwoo’s tired of the wandering. Tired of the lonesomeness. He still wants to find a city. Claim it as his own. Build his own pack from the ground up. “South,” he speaks.

Seokmin almost chuckles. "Not much more south you can go without crossing the border. Without leaving the country."

Now it's Wonwoo's turn to almost laugh. The tension in his shoulders lets up a tad. "East, then," he amends. "Maybe I'll give Nola a shot for a few weeks."

"Good luck out there. I've heard the king of New Orleans is real particular and won't let just _anybody_ stay in his city."

And Wonwoo actually likes that idea. Maybe he'll have an easier time when he's allowed to stay. "I heard the bayous can be just as beautiful as the desert."

To that, Seokmin snorts in dissatisfaction. "Let's not talk foolish, hermano."

"I don't know. A lot of things can turn out beautiful if you stare long enough."

"Whatever you say."

Out on the road, Wonwoo turns north. Out of town. East is the direction where his dreams lie. Chan doesn't deserve to go east. Wonwoo says, “I still wanna find my own city. Find someone I can raise a pack with.”

And he expects Seokmin to tease him. He's hinted at his strong opinions on how weak of a reason bloodline is when defining leaders in previous conversations. Seokmin’s unmated. Has no pups. But he’s still strong. Resourceful. Respected. His pack are his brothers, not by blood but still in name. And it’s odd to see that kind of dynamic in a pack. Without a blood family at its center. When most of these pack alphas run things through old, traditionalist methods of intimidation and violence and fear. But Seokmin isn’t joking when he says, “I’d love to see that. Maybe one day soon we can do business, Wonwoo. King to king.”

"I'd like that."

They hang up.

And just like that, Wonwoo's back on edge. Ready for a fight if he needs one. Wonwoo drops his phone into the empty cup holder, signals and merges onto the highway out of town. He doesn’t even look over at his passenger when he says, “I’ll drop you off in the next city over. That’s the only head start you deserve.”

Chan puts his thumb in his mouth, bites his nail nervously. “You really gonna let me go? Just like this? You really ain't gone tell Seokmin?”

“I’m not going to snitch on you.” Because that’s a low he’s not sure he can sink to. Wonwoo changes lanes to get from behind a slow-moving truck. “Seokmin’s boys are good. They don’t need my help tracking someone like you down.”

"Is this really how things end?" And Wonwoo didn't even know Chan's voice could get that threadbare and quiet.

"It better be," Wonwoo huffs.

When the silence stretches thin, Wonwoo looks over to see that Chan’s already looking at him. Staring. Bottom lip bitten. Wonwoo realizes that he was right about the man. That it would take him just a little a bit of looking to see the beauty in Chan’s shattered facade. And it hurts. How beautiful he is _hurts_. Maybe it hurts even more than what the fucker did to him.

Chan speaks at a whisper. “Will you help me? Will you come with me?”

Wonwoo puts his eyes back on the road. Maybe if Chan had asked him something so preposterous when his face was to the mattress. When they were both covered in sweat and whispered sweetness. “No,” he grunts. "Can't you see? When I let you off, I don't ever wanna see you again. Because if I do, I'll kill you for killing one of mine." He tightens his grip on the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles go white.

And Wonwoo can't tell if Chan still has that manipulative mask of his on or if he's being genuine when he asks, "But don't we have something?" He reaches out. His fingers brush over the top of Wonwoo's right hand.

Wonwoo resists the urge to flinch. “Not anymore. You see, I want to love someone I can trust.”

And Chan goes quiet at that. As he should. He pulls his hand back and turns all the way in his seat until he's staring out the side window at the starry night sky. At the big, yellow, all-knowing Moon.

Wonwoo drives.

**Author's Note:**

> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/TheSwingbyJHF)


End file.
